


King!Jensen Drabbles

by coveredbyroses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Breast Fucking, Crack, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Dry Humping, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Fluff, Forced Orgasm, Humor, Kissing, Master/Slave, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut, Spanking, Touching, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, implied threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-02-01 06:34:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 4,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21419992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: A collection of (mostly) smutty drabbles featuring Jensen Ackles as King Bacchus LI.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	1. Post Parade Float

The streets are quiet, forgotten beads and discarded trash the only reminder of the parade’s festivities. 

The two of you lay on your backs, on the float still, a request made by the king himself, parked in a secluded patch behind the hotel. He’s drunk, so very drunk, and a sudden hiccup tells you that you are too. You’re giggling as you pull the crown from his head to sit atop yours, and he’s just _beaming_, grin blinding as he takes you in.

“Have a good birthday, baby?” you murmur, rolling to your side, so you can prop you head up against your palm. You walk two fingers up the length of his chest, over the heavy material of his costume.

“I did,” he says, capturing you hand in his and lacing your fingers together. “Don’t tell me the party’s over, though…”

You giggle then, because he actually looks sad, the dim lights of the backlot snagging a flash of hurt in his glazed emerald eyes. But then he’s smiling, looks at you a bit hungry. “Whaa?” you slur. “Y’mean you haven’t seen ‘nough tits today?” 

He releases your hand to boldly grope at your chest. “They’re nice,” he grunts, still squeezing, then fits a hand between your legs, rubs at the seam of your jeans as he bites into his lower lip. “But I’s kinda hopin’ I might see this pussy t’night.” 

“_Oh_,” you breathe, the sound of it a lot lower than you’d expected. He helps you swing a leg over his hips, then he’s getting both hands up under your t-shirt, slipping up underneath the cups of your bra. His fingers are a little cold, but they feel so good as they dent into the swells of your breasts, palms rasping right against your nipples. 

“C’mon, My Queen,” he says, jade eyes flitting up to the crown still perched on your head. “Gimme one last birthday present.” 


	2. Happy Queen

He’s got you pressed up against the wall, one hand braced somewhere beyond your head while the other shoves itself into your panties. 

You’ve got a palm clamped over your mouth because you know he’s gonna pull every filthy sound out of you that he can. You’re whimpering against your own skin already as he works two fingers into you, has them crooked already, and his head is bent down so he can just fucking _breathe_ against your lips. 

You start to squirm, pinned between him and the hard wall, and you feel him smile against you as he gets a thumb on your clit. It feels good, too good even, and he’s not even putting much pressure against you yet. You drop your palm so you can get both hands on his thick arms, bracing.

“Pl…please,” you pant, the fire rolling and spreading, but he just slants his lips against yours, knocks your mouth open so he can drag his tongue over yours, so he can swallow down the sounds.

“Just relax for me,” he croons, fingers pumping, thumb pressing. “Gonna make you a happy queen.”


	3. Jealousy

“Why are you so mad?” The door slams hard enough for you to feel it in your bones, makes you jump a little as he shoulders past you, takes the crown off and flings it with enough force that it cracks off the headboard. 

“You really think I couldn’t see you from up on that stage?” Jensen bites, and you feel yourself bristle at what he’s accusing you of.

“Excuse me?! I was dancing, dude. That’s it - and we were all crammed in there like a can of fucking sardines… Are you seriously suggesting that I-” 

“I’ve been watching that dude eyeball you all fucking night!” His eyes are a wild moss, veins of his neck straining against the skin as he seethes.

You sigh then. “Baby, please…” Your voice is dangerously close to a whine, but you’ve both been having an amazing weekend, and you’ll be damned if it’s gonna go to shit over a thing like this. “You know it’s not like that.” You go towards him, slip your arms around the back of his neck. “Besides,” you drag a hand up the velvety back of his head. “I’d be a fucking idiot to wanna play with anybody else…” 

Full lips twitch with the birth of a smile, and then he’s fitting a hand at the small of your back, the other running up the length of your side before loosely resting at your throat, the web of skin between his index and thumb molding against you so deliciously _warm_. “Got me in a mood now,” he says, eyes soft again, but sparking. “Kinda wanna remind you who you belong to.”

You make a low sound as heat starts to swell in your belly. “I kinda wanna be reminded.”


	4. Orgasm Denial

You’re not sure what’s more surprising - the fact that there’s a delicious, incessant buzzing against your cunt, or the fact that your husband secretly packed your wand behind your back.

Your thighs are shaking, fuck it’s good, so fucking _good-_

“Look at me,” he says, and he may as well be asking you to perform heart surgery because the pleasure has your eyes so deep in your skull that you just fucking _can’t_. “You’ll look at me if ya wanna come.” It takes everything, but you set your gaze on him then, heavy-lidded and lust-blown. He’s still got that goddamned crown on his head. “There’s a good girl.” 

The pillow clings to your sweat-damp back where you’re propped up against the headboard, the back of your head tilted against the hard edge of it. “Ya ready to come for me?”

You’re nodding hard enough to rattle your brain, but he just grins, shifts the vibrating head right on your clit-

“Too bad.” And then he switches the thing to high.


	5. First I Love You

You’ve been dating a little over a month now, and this is your first real trip together as a couple. You’d been a little hesitant in going, Mardi Gras not really your thing, but he’d insisted, had looked at you with that malachite gaze, and you were putty.

It’s late, the party long over, and you’re both drunk when you stumble into the hotel room. He lands on the bed first, pulls you down so that you’re crushed up against his chest. His smile’s lazy, eyes glassy. 

“Know what?” he says, voice gruff.

“Hmm. What?”

“I love you.” 

Maybe it’s the whiskey, maybe it’s the truth - but you’ll take it as such so you just smile right back, slur out an “I love you too,” and then you drop your lips to his.


	6. Punishment

Your cheek is pressed against the cool wall, black dress hiked up over your ass, and your breath comes out sharp with every thwack of his palm.

“Whaddya say?” His voice is a deep rumble, and it mixes with the sting to settle wet between your thighs. 

“I’m - fuck! I’m s-sorry!” 

Another slap.

“I’m sorry, _what?_” 

Fuck, it’s ridiculous, but _god_-

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty-”

_WHACK_

“And what are you sorry for?” 

“_Shit_. I’m sorry for - _god_ \- I’m sorry for flashing you in public!”

“That’s right,” he says, and the smile is clear in his voice. “Those tits are for my eyes only. Understand?”

“Yes, Your Majesty - _please_…”

He rubs at the prickling heat, his palm firm through your sheer panties. “Take your punishment like a good girl, and _maybe_ you’ll get your reward.”


	7. Kneel Before Your King

“Are you serious?”

“Kneel. Before. Your king.”

“Baby, we gotta be downstairs in five minutes-”

“Yep, and you’ve got five minutes to remind me what that hot little mouth can do.”

He gives you a wink then, and you drop so hard it hurts your knees.


	8. King Cake

“Maybe slow down a little?”

He’s shoving huge forkfuls into his mouth, eats the thing like he hasn’t eaten in weeks.

“S’good,” he mumbles between swallows, and it makes you roll your eyes. 

“Fine, Your Highness,” you quip, pushing your own plate towards him. “Eat up, you _are_ the king.”


	9. Slave

This is ridiculous. There’s roleplay, and then there’s…this.

You’re naked and on your knees, denting into the plush carpet, and there’s a leather collar around your neck, leash hanging loose over your shoulder. He’s standing tall in front of you, thick fingers raking through your hair as you gape up at him.

“So pretty,” he breathes, and then a hand leaves you to pull at his robes, wedging into the tights so he can pull himself free.

Your mouth waters at the sight of it, so full and thick in his palm. He taps the slick head against your lips, knocking them open, groans deep as he works himself inside.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pushing in deep. “It’s damned good to be king.” 


	10. Throne Riding

Light bursts through the warehouse with a loud hum as he flicks the light on, and you have to blink at it a bit to adjust. 

The float sits a few feet away, the throne centered and surrounded with large grape clusters, and you can’t help but roll your eyes as you look over at him.

He’s wearing the costume still, had just had it fitted a few minutes ago. You shake your head. “I think you’re a little too excited about this,” you note, eyes roving over the length of him. 

“Um, _yeah_,” he tosses back, looks at you like you’ve grown horns. “It’s my birthday and I get to be king. I get to be _king_ for my _birthday_. This is fucking awesome.” 

You shrug at that then level your gaze back to the the float. “So this is your ride, huh?” You’re already walking towards it and can hear him following close behind. 

“Yep.” His palms land on your shoulders, slowly slide down down your arms and back up. “And y’know - I could be _your_ ride…”

It takes you a minute to comprehend what your husband just said. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

*

Five minutes later he’s sitting on that ridiculous throne, tights pulled to his knees, tassets shoved away, so you can slick up and down. He’s so hot and thick, stretches you open as you move. Your hands grasp at the soft material on his shoulders, while he grips he fleshy curve of your waist under your shirt, pushing and pulling; guiding.

His head’s tipped back, crown threatening to slip from his head, eyes shut, mouth gaping as rumbling groans bubble from his chest. His cape’s smooth under your bare knees as they slide against it, and shit, you just feel so fucking _good. _

One hand still braced against his shoulder, you get the other down between you, fingers ribbing frantic circles at your clit. Jensen’s eyes crack open then, and he gets his own hand against you, fingers pressing against yours, and then everything goes to static as you clamp and shake around him.

He follows a moment after, pumps you full, and you feel a little bad because you can’t move, but you know you’re staining the cape underneath his spread thighs

“We should go,” he rasps then, helps you lift.

It’s gonna be one hell of a weekend.


	11. Gloves

The gloves are deliciously warm and soft against your tits as his hands open and close against your skin. He’s leaned back against the head board, bowed knees spread so you can lay against him; your naked back flush against the smooth material of his king’s costume. 

You moan with each press of his fingers, arching back into him, and then you’re _shivering_ when he slowly trails a hand down over the smooth length of your stomach to cup your pussy. He still has one hand firm against your left breast, and you hump up into his palm when he starts to drag it against you. He brings his middle finger up to your clit, starts to swirl feather-light circles around the swollen nub, and it makes icy heat prickle all over.

Shaky and desperate, you get your hand on his, push it against you because you need more, you need the pressure; the friction. He obliges then, pushing circles instead of tracing.

You see _stars_.


	12. Sharing

His booted ankles are hooked over yours, legs holding you open. You can feel his heat bleed into your back, even through the thick material of his costume. He’s got three fingers crammed into your cunt, muscled arm draped across the swells of your breasts.

You’re both looking into the screen of the laptop perched at the foot of the bed, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the face peering back at you.

“Pretty isn’t she?” Jensen says, thick fingers slicking in and out.

“Ye-yeah,” Jared chokes, strangled voice distorted in the computer’s speakers. His hazel eyes are blown almost comically wide, and he’s running a big hand through his hair, pushing it from his vision.

“Fuck, she’s squeezin’ my fingers dude,” Jensen groans, then ducks down to lick at the slope of your neck. “You oughtta come out here, man.” He brings a hand down to grope your tits. “Would you like that, baby,” he whispers, breath hot and pulsing against your ear. “Want both of us to fuck ya stupid?” Jensen’s voice is low, but the sound Jared makes tells you that he’d heard.

“Please,” you gasp, twisting to capture mossy eyes with yours. “God, I want it-”

Jensen levels his head with the screen. “How fast you think you can get here?”


	13. After Party

Three years. Three fucking years you’re never gonna get back. And the bastard even waited until Mardi Gras to do it. Right in the middle of the parade; had left you there alone amidst of sea of screaming drunks.

You’d gone to the after party anyway, figured you may as well get your money’s worth for coming all the way out here.

You’re sitting in the back, at the bar, nursing a whiskey that just isn’t doing the trick, trying to figure out just where the hell you went wrong.

A looming shadow falls over you then, blocking the strobing beams of neon light.

“Okay, I think I know that look,” a voice says, raised over the volume of the thumping music. You look up to see _him_, nearly choking on the woody spice of your drink. He’s still dressed in full attire, crown twinkling under the multi colored lights. His front is awash in a hazy glow from the bar’s blue lights, and he’s smiling sad. He dips his chin a little. “Broken heart?”

And oh hell, it makes you want to burst into tears then; that it’s so obvious that a fucking stranger - albeit a _famous _stranger - can see it written all over your face. You swallow hard against it. “Yeah,” you say, shrugging it off like it’s nothing, like it’s not one of the most soul-crushing things to have ever happened to you. “But it’s all good - I got me a drink,” you raise your glass for emphasis, “and I’m at one hell of a party, so, y’know. I’m aces.” 

Jensen takes a seat next to you, turns on the stool so he knees are bumping against yours, head cocked to the side. “You’re lying, and that’s okay - but it’s my birthday weekend - and I’m king if you haven’t noticed. So you don’t get to be sad. Cool?”

He’s smiling so sweetly, and butterflies are just erupting in your belly. You give him a curt nod and your own sweetest smile. 

“Yeah. Cool.” 


	14. Spanking

He’s sitting in the plush chair by the window, one arm anchored over your back, holding you against his thighs. Your dress is hastily tossed up over your ass, the hem of reaching the back of your neck. 

The heat just pulses through you every time his palm lands against you, prickling hot and so fucking delicious. You’re bunching the smooth material of his costume in your palms, biting into his knee as his hand falls against the globes of your ass over and over and over.

“This pussy’s soaked,” he grunts, and it’s only then that you realize you are, can feel the warm slick of it clinging to your folds. He grants you a reprieve to run a thick finger through the wet gathered there, then slowly sinks it inside.

“There’s my good girl,” he drawls. “I think you’ve earned your reward.”


	15. Only the Crown

Now _this_ is a shock. You freeze on the spot, fingers still entwined in your shower-soaked hair at the sight of him sprawled out on the bed. 

He’s deliciously naked; legs lax and spread as he reclines against the plush pillows, cock thick in his hand as he leisurely strokes…

And the fucking crown is still on his head. 

“What’s this?” you laugh, pulling your towel tighter around you.

“A surprise for you.” His smile is lazy; loopy even, and his eyes twinkle under the damp lighting.

“That so?”

“Mhmm.”

“You…or the crown?” Your smile is playful as you wag a finger between Jensen and the sparkling headpiece. 

He purses his thick lips, jade eyes lifting in faux thought. “Depends,” he says, mirth flickering across emerald orbs. “If you want the crown, you’ll have to sit on the throne.”


	16. Dancing

You can feel soft lines of his costume as he presses into you, grinding. He presses harder, and you feel it there against the small of your back, that firm lump that could only be-

A hand snakes around your middle, dips down to cup you right _there_.

“Shit,” you gasp, unheard under the noise of the room. “J-”

“Shh,” he breathes into your ear. “Relax, just a preview of tonight’s Grand Finale.” His voice is a low rumble over the pulsing bass of the music.

Thick fingers shift, press firmly just where you want them, and your body _erupts _in pleasure-sparks. Another hand moves to cup your right breast, thumb rasping over the covered nipple, and it makes your hips buck up into his hand.

This is no doubt going to be the best weekend ever.


	17. Overstimulation

“Sh-shit,” you choke, blunt nails scraping through velvety spikes. “Please - I can’t-” Your eyes are screwed shut, pleasure tears seeping out from under your lashes.

Plush lips pull from your soaked core. “Yeah, ya can,” he says, jade eyes flicking up to yours. “Just relax…give it all to me.”

Your cunt is still pulsing around three spread fingers, clit still tingling from your second orgasm of the night. He gets a thumb on the swollen nub, swirling over the slick, tender flesh there.

It hurts a little, so raw and fresh, but you try to obey, will it all to relax against him.

“Atta girl,” he says, ducking down to slick his hot tongue against the fingers buried inside you.

You’re sweat-damp all over, and the pleasure is quickly building up again as he works his hot mouth against you, fingers pumping. You feel the heat ball up, spreading and surging, then it stops - numbness eclipsing the sweet burn of it all.

Something pops deep inside and then your gushing, soaking his fingers and lips as you come _violently._

“Mmm,” he groans, so deep, tongue flicking out to swipe your taste from his lips.

“Knew I’d make a squirter outta ya.”


	18. Lap

His thighs are perfect, fucking perfect; warm. You’re in his lap, twisted at the waist so you can slick your tongue over his. He’s got one hand jammed under your dress, short nails scraping deliciously over your damp panties. The tassets are a little itchy under your ass, but fuck if you care, because little currents of pleasure are zipping through your veins with every exquisite drag.

“Gonna come like this?” he asks after breaking away, lips tingling against yours. You whimper. “Or do ya need somethin’ up inside you? Something thick and hot?”

God, you’re soaking through at that, cunt already fluttering in desperation.

“That,” you whisper, shifting so you’re straddling his hips. “Definitely _that_.”


	19. Sparkly Suit

“My what now?”

“Your sparkly suit. It looks good on you.” 

His frown blossoms into a full grin, even though olive eyes are rolling. “I don’t know that I’d call it that, but hey, if it looks _good_…”

You smooth your hands up his chest to drape around the back of his neck. “It does, but…” You let your eyes roll back, feigning thought. “I think it’d look a hell of a lot better on the floor.”

“Give me a few hours, honey,” he says, voice deep and eyes sparking. “And I might just have _you_ on the floor.”


	20. Proposal

The city’s lights twinkle against the black velvet of the night sky beyond the hotel’s broad window, and you have to admit that you feel a bit like a queen gazing out into it, tucked into Jensen’s side. He’s warm, even through the thick material of the king’s costume, and he’s swiping his thumb up and down your arm where his long fingers are curved a little too tightly around it.

He’s chewing at the corner of his mouth - he’s nervous.

“S’wrong, babe?” you ask, voice laced with concern. “Today was awesome, you did so awesome.” 

He clears his throat and nods, flicks you a quick acknowledging glance. 

“So, um…” He turns toward you, rubs his palms against the cloth tassets covering his thighs. He blows out a heavy breath and then he’s pulling a tiny velvet box from somewhere under the layers of his garb.

“What…”

He sinks to a knee, and your heart sprints.

His voice is dry when he says your name, so he licks his lips and swallows, fingers fumbling with the little black lid before prying it open to reveal a twinkling diamond ring.

“Will you be my queen?” 


	21. I Just Can't Wait To Be King

“You wanna turn that off?” He asks, voice raised a little to be heard over the tinny sound blooming from your cell phone. He smooths his hands over his costume, pinches off a piece of lint. 

“Why? It’s perfect!” you toss back, bobbing your head and swaying to the rhythm. 

He gives you a steely glare, but his mouth’s quirked up in an almost-smile.

You break into a grin, then take a breath before belting out the last line of the song.

“Oh, I just can’t waaaiiit to be kiiing!”


	22. Teasing

His fingers are the faintest, burning brush against your thighs, the thick pads of them dancing all the way to the lacy line of your panties before traveling back down to your knees. Your silk dress is pushed up, bunched around your hips, the thin black straps pulled down around your biceps. The swells of your tits are still damp and cooling from the wet heat of his mouth.

Full, plush lips hover over yours, damp-warm breath pulsing against you. He’s perched on the edge of the hotel bed, tights-covered knees facing toward the open window, but twisted at the waist with a heavy hand braced deep into the pillow next to your head so juniper eyes can deeply bore into yours.

You’re wet enough that hot slick seeps through the crotch of your panties, dampening the comforter underneath. He notices, runs a finger along your folds through the soaked material.

“Messy girl,” he rumbles against your lips, and the words send fresh flames licking at your belly. 

“Please,” you whimper, head lifting to chase his lips, but he only backs away.

“Magic words…” he croons.

“Please, Your Highness.”


	23. Tit Fucking

The sheets are damp against your back where you’re trapped underneath him, caged between his thick thighs. His white tights are yanked down, probably ripped from the stretch, the skirt of his costume pulled up around his hips.

Your hands are busy pushing your tits together so his full cock can plunge into the crease of them. It feels good, the way the velvety hard length glides against your damp skin. 

You’re panting as hard as he is, even though you aren’t really moving - but he’s gonna explode any second now, and you want it - want all of it. Want your face covered in it. 

“Come on, My King,” you plead, eyes locked on his flushed face; the way his brows slant in concentration, eyes open just a crack, lips soft and open with heavy breaths.

“Give it all to me.”


End file.
